


In A Perfect World

by kittysorceress



Category: Glee
Genre: Character Study, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-11-20
Updated: 2011-11-20
Packaged: 2017-10-26 07:52:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,613
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/280590
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittysorceress/pseuds/kittysorceress
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>While Kurt is in New York at Nationals, Blaine deals with the day-to-day of the final fortnight of junior year at Dalton. A spin on a reason behind why Dalton might no longer be the best school for Blaine. This was written before Season 3 aired and is therefore not 100% canon-compliant.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In A Perfect World

**Author's Note:**

> From the summer hiatus.

_In a perfect world…_  it's one of those phrases that people use to console you when things don't turn out how you expected.

"My only concern is that Blaine's placement on the Council could represent a conflict of interest if he continues to take on the large number of solos for the group as he has this year." Blaine watches in stunned silence as Nick, well, kind of stabs him in the back. "And we don't want to ignore the possibility of a lack of new talent with the arriving freshmen."

It's easy for Nick to talk though, because he's already sitting there next to Thad, ready to assume the position from their outgoing friend. And Jeff is on David's side, folding the meeting minutes in a paper crane.

Wes pulls a face of barely-masked consternation and opens the proposal to the room. "All in favour of Warbler Trent as Council Chairman 2011-12, raise your hand." Blaine's heart sinks and Wes smiles at him apologetically. "Motion passed. Congratulations, Warbler Trent." He bangs the gavel and the room erupts with cheers.

Blaine feels empty.

He should be happy for his friends. He should be more understanding about this decision, because it's not without reason. He should be over there at the desk, clapping the guys on their backs and telling them what an awesome job they'll do.

But he can't, because deep inside he's pretty sure he could have done better.

Blaine isn't ashamed to say that he told his mother everything when he got home from school that night. They still have a pretty good relationship, he and his mother, and he's happy to share the news of the school day most evenings in the kitchen as he helps her chop the vegetables or unpacks the clean plates from the dishwasher.

She had been a Crawford Canary back in the day and it's been something they've been able to bond over a lot the last couple of years. It's the reason he ended up at Dalton, after Warwick House turned out to be just as terrible on the bullying front as the public middle school he'd been to. His father hadn't been pleased, but his father never really was pleased with anything.

When Blaine breaks down and tells her just how much he wanted to be on the council, how much he just wanted to fit in with them all, how he felt like an outsider again, how he felt rejected, Mrs Anderson turns off the stove and moves around to the side of the counter where he is sitting, pulling him into the kind of comforting hug that only a mommy can provide.

Mr Anderson isn't home until late that night, so Blaine and his mother end up curled up on the couch with a big bowl of organic popcorn and the Across the Universe DVD.

Not being on the Warbler Council isn't the end of the world, but in a perfect world Blaine would be running each of these songs on the TV though his mind as potential sectionals set list numbers, thinking harmonies and choreography. Instead, he sobs into his mother's shoulder during Blackbird and she strokes his hair comfortingly as she sings along to Hey Jude. His mother reminds him that he's still got that audition for Six Flags coming up, that none of the other Warbler boys have had half the success he has.

Success…

What's making this week even more difficult is that Kurt's in New York for Nationals. It's really hard for Blaine reply to each excited text with encouragement and enthusiasm, when all he wants to do is tell Kurt about how  _voiceless_  he feels.

And he knows that would be a low blow, because Kurt's gone off with New Directions, who pride themselves on Rachel "I'm a tiny Barbra Streisand" Berry, and the chances any countertenor solos are going to come out of original songs written by that lot are about the same as the Book of Mormon not winning any Tony Awards next month.

So he sits there in classes the next day, trying and failing to concentrate on taking notes while his peers speculate on the Prefect appointments. This final hope for some sort of leadership credibility at Dalton, five students elected by the Headmaster, is fast becoming an obsession.

He knows that Sports Prefect is not an option, nor Chapel Prefect. Social Justice Prefect is a chance – he does a bit of charity work – and he's surely a shoo-in for Music Prefect with the Warblers and orchestra. Then there's Head Prefect.

Blaine knows he's been a model student. He wears his uniform right, he gets good grades. He's the kind of kid that the school brings out on Open Day for the school tours, to sell to parents just what their sons could be if they attend Dalton Academy. So, for the next few days, it's all about keeping calm and putting out his very best and, sure enough, he's one of the lucky few who are asked to make an appointment with the Headmaster on Monday afternoon.

It's not an election, not yet, but it's good enough to keep Blaine in high spirits when he sees Kurt at the Lima Bean that weekend and hears all about New York. It's the push he needed to admit "I love you" and in his mind, he's already playing out their brilliant summer. He can imagine next year too, Kurt on the second-year running Nationals-bound New Directions, himself  _Head Boy_  and  _lead soloist_  at Dalton. It's going to be perfect.

Monday can't come quickly enough.

It's unexpectedly pouring with rain outside the windows when Blaine excuses himself from his Extension English class after lunch and heads downstairs to the Headmaster's office. He makes himself known to the secretary before taking a seat in one of the old leather armchairs, waiting to be called in. He runs a checklist in his mind: shoes polished, trousers and blazer pressed, tie straight, top button done, hair - he notices the rain is even heavier now as he checks his hair in the reflection of the window next to him. Deep breath in, deep breath out, he knows he'll be fine.

Blaine's head snaps up as the door to the office creaks open and Andrew-from-the-football team walks out with a massive grin on his face and a tell-tale glint of silver on his lapel. The two of them share a brief look before Dr Elliott steps out to join them.

The Headmaster is a tall man, thin and tweed suited. Thinning grey hair and square glasses. Everything a private boys' school headmaster should be.

"Would you like to come in, Mr Anderson?" he speaks, motioning back into the office.

It's a grand room the oldest building of Dalton. Blaine loves the tapestries above the bay window and the dusty smell of the volumes in the bookcases that line the walls. He's only been in here once before, the day he transferred. Back then, he was small and scared. Now, he's confident as he stands at the center of the room, waiting for the Headmaster to be seated before taking his own chair. A Dalton boy knows his manners.

"So, Blaine," Dr Elliott steeples his fingers and settles back further into his chair, "congratulations on an excellent school year. First in Political Studies, I see."

"Thank you, sir," Blaine smiles. "Mr Bold is an excellent teacher."

"And your work with the Warblers, very impressive. You've quite the voice, make sure it doesn't go to waste after graduation."

"No, sir," he replies.

"However, I was disappointed with the result at the Regionals competition. And the number of complaints, very disappointing indeed," Dr Elliott reaches into his desk and pulls out a think stack of plain white envelopes, each with a jagged upper-edge presumably from the jade letter opener on the desk, and places them down. "Mostly from fundamentalists, the like of that insane woman judge, but a few from parents and alumni, all anxious about the implications of a romantic duet between two young men."

Blaine feels all the blood leave his face, he goes to speak but words don't come out.

"I don't blame you in the least, Mr Anderson. You're a brilliant performer. As is Mr Hummel, for that matter, and I was certainly sad to see his talent lost from your group when he returned to his former school. My concern is that song choices be more carefully vetted in the future, to ensure this sort of thing doesn't happen again." Dr Elliott brushes the letters into his wastepaper basket with a flourish. "It's the kind of publicity that Dalton Academy could do without."

"I'll put it forward to the council at our next meeting, sir," Blaine manages.

"Good boy." The Headmaster raps a hand on the desk. "You're an intelligent young man; I knew you'd see sense. That's why this next part is so difficult – I'm afraid that Dalton will not be offering you a Prefect position for senior year, Mr Anderson."

All that hope Blaine had for credibility with his peers has suddenly collapsed in on itself. "Oh." It is numbing. Not on the council, not a prefect, maybe not even the soloist… he is a nobody now.

"It's the fear of the Board that your – and I quote –  _unique_  personality doesn't appropriately represent the traditions and ideals of Dalton Academy. They are unsure of your appropriateness as a role model for the younger students. I'm very sorry."

Blaine looks the Headmaster in the eye, stoic face on. "Thank you, sir. I completely understand."

 _In a perfect world…_  but Dalton never really had been perfect.


End file.
